<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>what fills a vessel? by BeautifulBlue</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28729176">what fills a vessel?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulBlue/pseuds/BeautifulBlue'>BeautifulBlue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Archive 81 (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ficlet, Intellectual Pining, M/M, Nicholas is a chronic over-analyzer, Post-Left of the Dial, Pre-Relationship, post-season 3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:09:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28729176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulBlue/pseuds/BeautifulBlue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking at Arthur sometimes felt like looking at the negative image on undeveloped film; all black and dark blues with scrapes of transparency and the occasional floating molar. But if Nicolas concentrated hard enough, he could see the outline of Arthur's features; his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Before, he had never had the urge to try to look through the ever-shifting crackling aura that enveloped Arthur like a shell. Now, in the quick glimpses he took while driving, he felt the urge to reach out and trace those lines with his fingers, to put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, whether in sympathy or gratitude he wasn’t sure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Static Man/Nicholas Waters, The Clerk &amp; Static Man &amp; Nicholas Waters, pre-Static Man/Nicholas Waters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what fills a vessel?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nicholas kept the recorder on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After more than a day of driving, the diner was far behind them. The first thing Nicholas did when he turned the car on was hit the switch to turn off the radio, and for the first time, blissful silence filled the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove like that for a while on the empty road, until night fell and the strange, shifting, warring clouds once again glowed on the horizon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clerk—Morgan, he reminded himself—sat in the back seat asleep, with her head rested against the window. She was still wearing the waitress uniform of the diner, a gaudy pink dress and white apron. The skirt flared out at the bottom, with layers upon layers of tulle peeking out from underneath. Not for the first time since entering the Blacktop, Nicholas thought of his father, of how he perverted everything he touched, and how he influenced spaces without even so much of a thought, molding them into objects of entertainment and channels of power.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicholas would never be like him. Where his father gave no thought to the pain he caused others, Nicholas showed mercy; had empathy. The Trucker saw that. As soon as they met Nicholas was able to convince them. He wasn't there to destroy, he just wanted to heal the wounds his father left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as Nicholas thought about the Trucker, about how quickly he was able to persuade them to help, and of the woman who was not his mother, and how a dance took her from vengeance to love, he wondered what kind of influence he had that he was not yet aware of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a sharp clap of thunder as lighting filled the darkness, turning the night sky bright shades of green and purple. Nicholas felt Arthur snap to attention in the seat next to him, and turned to follow his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you think we're gonna catch that storm again?" Arthur asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morgan stirred slightly, then settled back down. Gods only knew how long she must have gone without genuine sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Nicholas said as she stilled. "I think we'll be alright."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure? I don't want anything... bad to happen again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, I'll keep my eyes open," Nicholas tried to sound comforting. "But I have a feeling we won't be going through all of that again. Try to get some rest, I'll let you know if I need anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, I really don't need any rest. What about you, are you sure you don't want me to take over the wheel for a while?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I</span>
  <span>–</span>
  <span>No, thank you. I'm not tired, and it helps me think."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur gave him a shrug and a, "Suit yourself," and turned back to watching the warring clouds out the window. He looked pensive; it was the quietest Nicholas had ever seen him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at Arthur sometimes felt like looking at the negative image on undeveloped film; all black and dark blues with scrapes of transparency and the occasional floating molar. But if Nicolas concentrated hard enough, he could see the outline of Arthur's features; his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Before, he had never had the urge to try to look through the ever-shifting crackling aura that enveloped Arthur like a shell. Now, in the quick glimpses he took while driving, he felt the urge to reach out and trace those lines with his fingers, to put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, whether in sympathy or gratitude he wasn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the years Nicholas has known Arthur, he never thought it possible to make any sort of physical contact—had in fact instinctively avoided it. Arthur's form was something dangerous, not to be crossed. But when Nicholas carried him, he felt how human he still was. He had felt the flesh and bone, felt the fabric of the clothes Arthur might have been wearing when he was turned, felt him breathe, if only out of instinct rather than necessity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to talk to him, to ask him something, but nothing came to mind other than the dumb question he had asked earlier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you have any ideas for what you want in a new body?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Nicholas turned his mind to more practical topics. They would have to figure out a new plan once they returned to the manor, but at least they weren’t starting from scratch. He would need Morgan’s help with research, as musical rituals were well out of his purview, and he had never been artistically inclined. The rituals Nicholas had dealt with until now required intention, persuasion, and force of will, but musical rituals were a different beast. Yes, the intention was still at the heart, but it required technical skills he didn’t have. He couldn’t just pick up an instrument to perform a ritual, there were too many variables, too much room for error if he didn’t hit the right note or play at the correct tempo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would Morgan need assistance while helping them? He had a feeling she didn’t have much to go back to. He looked to the back seat in the mirror again and noticed a slight shift in her appearance. Her dress had faded to a pale pink, washed out like fabric left in the sun for too long, and the skirt no longer puffed up around her in a circle. Instead it had receded to a single layer of polyester, hitting just below her knees. “Interesting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Arthur straightened next to him, alert. He noticed Nicholas looking at Morgan in the rear view and settled back in his seat. “Oh. She okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s just... her clothes have changed.” Arthur turned in his seat to look at Morgan, still sleeping soundly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we must be getting farther from the Blacktop’s influence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean your dad’s influence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicholas paused, struck by the accusatory tone. He turned to Arthur, looking in the general area he was last able to locate Arthur’s eyes and was met with loud, shifting noise that made his own eyes sting. He decided not to argue; it wouldn’t help. “Yes. We should be back soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha ha, and then what?” Arthur said, clearly trying to mask his uncertainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicholas shot him a look. “And then we research. We figure out if Morgan knows anything useful, and we make a new plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur was quiet for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, if you don’t need me, mind if I disappear back into the ether?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicholas was hesitant to let him go, “Are you sure? You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah man, I’m fine. Just, call me if you need me,” the strain in his voice betrayed his attempts at a cheerful demeanor. Even at the most strained times between them, Arthur rarely chose to be alone. Nicholas had seen the void he spent most of his time in; he doubted Arthur had any other pressing matters to attend to, and if he needed to go blow off steam, he was hiding it better than he usually did. Nicholas knew he could convince him to stay if he wanted; even without invoking their vassal relationship, he was always able to convince Arthur to do what he needed of him. Still, he had pushed Arthur a lot for this ritual, and he rather not test his limits in such an uncertain time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Nicholas acquiesced. They said their goodbyes, and Arthur’s form disappeared in a crackling blip. He turned the recorder off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a rustling behind him, and he glanced back to see Morgan squinting up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Morgan tilted her head to look in the front seat. “Is Static Man gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now,” He looked back to see Morgan studying the new hem of her skirt. “Do... you want to sit shotgun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, thank you.” Morgan picked at a loose thread before looking up to meet Nicholas’ eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Hey, um, what year is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was quiet for a moment after Nicholas told her. “How long were you gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About seven years,” she answered softly. “Doubt my lease has been renewed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry.” Nicholas said, meaning it. Compared to Morgan, his introduction to the esoteric arts had practically been gift-wrapped. Even when he was lost, he was never truly without hope. But Morgan had ventured into the unknown alone, and had paid for it in a small eternity. “Listen, if you need somewhere to stay for a while, you’re welcome to stay with us. My home is... spacious, and it’s upper east side; pretty out of the way. It’s a good place to get your bearings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fancy,” She said, with a teasing lilt. “Thank you, I would really appreciate that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to, ah, drop by anywhere first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m good,” she thought about it, then said, “Actually, do you mind if we go through a drive through or something? I feel like I haven’t eaten in years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Nicholas smiled. “How do you feel about Popeyes?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, thanks for reading! I wrote this in a haze right after listening to Left of the Dial when the mini-series was first released. Then it sat in my drafts for... a while. I have this vague idea for a story that continues on from this for our new trio, so I may add on in the future, but for now, I am publishing this as a completed work. This is actually the first fic I've written and posted in years, and it was great to let the creativity flow again.</p><p>I have this headcanon that Nicholas started calling Static Man "Arthur" in his head since he found out that was his name, sort of as a way of affirming his humanity. I have a lot of love for Nicholas as a character; he's analytic to a fault, will think himself in circles, and is hyper-suspicious of others, but when he decides someone is important to him, he'll go to the ends of the earth for them. That's how he was with Chris and Static Man, and hopefully how he will grow to be for Morgan. </p><p>See what else I'm working on at my <a href="https://jackcas.tumblr.com/">tumblr here</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>